Readings: Psalm 125, Isaiah 35:4-7a, Mark 7:31-37, Ephesians 5:15-20
Preached at Bridgehampton Presbyterian Church, NY, September 8, 2024
As today is the day we restart our next Session of Sunday School, I decided it would be fun to share a story rather than preach a sermon. Our reading from Ephesians encouraged us to share words and sing songs that tell of the ways of the Kingdom.
Sometimes the greatest carriers of truths are simple stories, something Jesus witnessed to by the fact that when He wanted to say something really important, He often turned it into an unforgettable parable. The Good Samaritan. The Prodigal Son. We do not easily forget them.
Well I’m going to share a story I originally wrote for a youth retreat in West Virginia when we first came to the U.S.A, but since then it has been used for various other events.
In fact, some folks have taken copies and used it themselves at their events. So... I figured, just in case one of those who have borrowed my story, ever made their way here, it would be better if you hear this story from the original author, while he’s still around.
I don't claim that it is particularly original; in fact, it's a combination of a couple of sound-strips I recall seeing in the UK when I was a young ‘un (produced by Scripture Union) along with a few thoughts of my own.
But for what it is worth (and with the hope that it may carry something of the love of God within it), I present to you...a cowboy classic…
"THE STRANGER IN KARABAZOO"
Once upon a time, in the days of the Wild West, (Or it could have been the Wild East), there was a little town called Karabazoo. Karabazoo was much like any other town and its people much like any other people. Every day they got out of bed, ate breakfast, went to work, came home, ate supper, chilled out for a while, then went back to bed.
Every day that is, except for Sunday, when they went to their pretty little church, with its proud, upstanding bell-tower, in the middle of town. Every Sunday the sound of its bell would ring out across the town, and most everybody would be there.
And much like any other town, people did not always say what they wanted to say; did not always act the way they felt they should act; did not always do what they thought they should do.
The people used to - well - they wore masks. In the morning, even though sometimes they got out of bed feeling awful they would wear an "'Oh what a beautiful morning' mask". When they walked down the street about their business, they would greet each other with, "Hello, how nice to see you" masks, even when they were not a bit pleased to see each other.
The men had some masks they hoped would impress the ladies. Some of the ladies had "Oh, I'm so pretty" masks to hide behind. Many had a "Look at me, I'm working ever so hard and deserve a pay rise" mask to impress their employers with. Some of the employers had stern, disapproving masks that seemed to say, "Just remember who's the boss around here!"
Some people had real important masks. The Judge. The Manager at the Company Store. The Night Watchman. Some had masks that looked expensive. And some had masks that looked really poor.
They had masks to say, "I really care," when really, they didn't care; masks that showed an interest, when really, they weren't interested; masks to say, "I'm real," when really, they were just pretending, and they even had masks that said, "I love you".
And on Sundays they would put on their Sunday best masks and, listening to the tolling of the bell, from their pretty little church, would march to the center of town to hear the pastor preach his Sunday best Sermon, in his Sunday best suit, through his Sunday best masked face.
Now one day a stranger came riding into town. The stranger was kind of weird. He looked like the rest of them. He dressed like the rest of them. He spoke like the rest of them. He acted much like the rest of them. Except for one thing. He was not wearing a mask. "Did you see him?" people said, "He wasn't wearing a mask!"
Behind their masks people began to mutter, mumble and whisper. "No mask. It is not right. No mask. He's dangerous. No mask... must be a crazy man... stranger... doesn't he realize everyone in Karabazoo wears a mask?"
A rumor started to spread. Rumor was that one afternoon he had met a lady down by the old water well, on the outskirts of town. (Not the center of town where the pretty white church with its proud bell tower stood, but... you know... the other side of town.) "He met a lady there," they said.
Not just any lady, but a lady, well... let us just say that she spent more time down in the saloon than was ladylike and her husband... well it wasn't really her husband and nor were the last fellows she was living with… and so on and so on and so on.
Rumor had it she had met him down by the well one hot sunny afternoon, and he... he... in broad daylight, he had made her take her mask off! And now she was running all over town telling everyone that it felt good to have your mask removed, felt free and liberating and alive and good.
Worse still, some other people, (people admittedly from the wrong side of town), had listened and were seriously considering destroying their whole collection of masks!
Sunday came around. Everyone put on their Sunday best masks and marched along to the pretty little church, with its proud, upstanding bell-tower, at the center of the town. In the study the pastor prepared to preach his Sunday best Sermon, in his Sunday best suit, through his Sunday best masked face.
The service began and the choir put on an admirable performance. Calls to Worship and prayers of confession resonated around the rafters. Hymns were dutifully sung (but without too much emotion lest it become a distraction).
People snuggled down in their pews for their customary slumber as the pastor began his address. He was halfway through when, suddenly, yet quietly and respectfully, in walked the stranger.
He went and sat on the back row, as church folk do. As the preacher talked on, he noticed the stranger whispering something into a little girl’s ear. Next moment the child was taking off her mask... taking off her mask, in all places and at all times, in the sanctuary during a divine service of worship... taking off her mask and handing it to the stranger.
The stranger lifted it to his face, and it just seemed to melt into his features, to be absorbed by his gentle smile. Then the next child took off her mask, and the boy next to her, and each mask was passed to the stranger where it became immersed in his smile.
Now some of the little ones were whispering to those in the back row. "Take off your masks... be free... it feels good… .it feels right". And some did and some did not. Those who did had their masks passed to the stranger and he took them onto himself.
Down at the front of the pretty little church, with its proud, upstanding bell-tower, at the center of the of town, some of the people, the important people, the ones who held the keys of power, the preacher, the elders, all those who wore masks that had "I'm important and you should know about that" written across them, were shifting in their seats uncomfortably.
They looked around at the stranger. They looked up at the preacher who had reached another incomprehensible milestone in his unintelligible sermon. One of them went to the front, beckoned to the preacher to stop his flow, and whispered something in his ear.
There were a few moments of jarring silence as the preacher ruffled his notes uncomfortably. Then, accusingly, he pointed his finger down the aisle, looking directly at the stranger, he said, 'In the name of all that is decent and true... LEAVE US ALONE".
"Stop Him,” shouted the chief elder. And with that the stranger leaps out of his seat and starts darting among the pews, heading randomly for the front of the church, pulling off people’s masks, left, right and center as he made for the vestry door. "You can never be free as long as you wear your masks" he said, as he purposefully rushed by.
They chased him into the vestry. Out through the vestry door into the hall. Up the schoolroom steps onto the second floor. Along the polished floor scattering the chairs as they went. Heading for the little door that led to the spiral staircase that led to the top of the pretty little churches proud, upstanding bell-tower.
The stranger kicked through the door and headed up the narrow staircase. Hands pulling up on the metal, a missed footing here yet climbing ever higher and higher. The chief elder was in hot pursuit. "Come back here with those masks" he was screaming.
Then out on to the roof they went, the stranger squeezing through the hole that led to the outside. He had his back to the edge as the chief elder reached him. The proud elder did not hesitate. Just pushed him over the edge with a hard smile on his face. "That should stop you" he said.
Down, down, down, down, fell the stranger and hit the ground with a sickening, dull, thud. Not moving. Not breathing.
Back inside the church, a strange mixture of people. Some with masks, some without. Some laughing, some crying. Some whispering, "I'm free," some shaking their heads in disbelief. Slowly they made their way outside to where the body of the stranger lay, with masks strewn all around him.
Some recognized their masks, picked them back up, put them on and went home. But others ... well... they never did put their masks back on.
Just a few.
But their number is growing every day.
"Don't need masks" they say, "Need to be Free".
And the stranger?
They left his body lying on the ground and everyone went home.
When the funeral director came for the body, strange thing... he was gone.
Some say he is still in town. Others say, that in other towns, others are taking off their masks, and he has been seen there.
There had been a stranger in Karabazoo.
And one thing is for sure.
Karabazoo
has never been the same
since that stranger
came riding
into town.
The Reverend Adrian J Pratt B.D.
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